


A Matchless Match

by Princessedelarue



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 05:13:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4509141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princessedelarue/pseuds/Princessedelarue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While a lot big changes are going on in life at the Mystery Shack, Mabel decides to use her matchmaking skills on her Grunkle Stan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Matchless Match

**Author's Note:**

> This story is for Day 2 of Fiddlestan Week on tumblr: An Outside Perspective. I wrote this before I saw the episode "Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons" so the relationships and settings are based on my own headcanons after "A Tale of Two Stans." 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy!

Monday morning at the Mystery Shack rose up bright and sunny, and everyone was buzzing with life.

Waddles was enjoying a healthy mud bath under the back porch. (His pores were going to _sparkle._ )

Grunkle Stan was loading up the shelves in the gift shop with new merchandise. (More like _overloading!_ What, was he trying to clear himself out?)

Great-uncle Ford was doing super important work in the secret lab. (Whatever that was.)

And Dipper… Dipper was with him.

It was already shaping up to be a great day for _everyone!_

Mabel swung her legs lazily against the front counter as she watched Grunkle Stan work. He wasn’t being very chatty today. Or funny, or energetic-y, or … He was probably just tired. What other reason could there be for him to not laugh at her _amazing_ zebras-at-a-mall joke? Or the one about the otters in the swimming pool? She was using some of her best material here and he hadn’t even cracked a smile!

It was time to pull out the big guns…

“Grunkle Stan! What do you get when you cross–”

The bell above the gift shop door interrupted her (how rude!) and made her lose her place. Mabel spun around to see a tower of books with legs stumble inside. Its feet didn’t have any shoes on and there was a wisp of a long white beard dangling between them, close to the floor…Oh.

“Hiya, Mr. McGucket!”

How could she have known her cheery call would have such a catastrophic effect?

While Mr. McGucket’s head twisted to the _left_ , towards her voice, the books in his hands twisted to the _right_. Then everything moved so fast – Mabel didn’t even have time to shout before it all came crashing down. The books went every which way at once, their pages fluttering in the air only to clatter messily to the wood floor. Mr. McGucket lost his balance trying to stop them and she watched helplessly as his legs and arms swooped up into the air –

But Grunkle Stan caught him, moving faster than she’d ever seen him, before his head could hit the ground.

Mabel hopped off the counter, ready to rush over and apologize, but something about the way the two men were standing together made her pause. Grunkle Stan’s hands were supporting Mr. McGucket, one near his waist and the other under his neck, in a low dip. He was crouched so far over that their noses were only a few inches apart. And when she looked a little more carefully at Mr. McGucket’s face, she could see that he was _blushing_.

When Grunkle Stan asked, “You alive, old man?” in that gruff voice of his, Mr. McGucket got even redder. He squirmed away, falling to the floor as he murmured his thanks, and started to scoop up his books into a cluttered, uneven pile.

For a couple of seconds Mabel just stood there watching, heart swelling in _delight_ , as he crawled around on the floor and Stan stooped down to help. Then she remembered herself and hurried over to pick up the last of the books and add it to the stack. She fiddled with the edges until they were all standing in a neat line.

The whole pile was picked up by Grunkle Stan before Mr. McGucket had finished getting, awkwardly, to his feet. He strolled over to the vending machine, shifting the books to lean against one arm so he could punch in the code, then, checking over his shoulder to make sure they were still alone, bumped the secret doorway open with his hip and nodded for Mr. McGucket to come closer.

She’d been so _sure_ her uncle was going to carry the books down for him that she felt a sharp pain of disappointment when he put the stack down on the floor instead and handed him three from the top. 

Mr. McGucket just nodded (pretty shyly, it seemed to her) when Grunkle Stan told him to, “Take a couple at a time, alright?” Then he disappeared down the spooky staircase and Stan pushed the vending machine, softly, back into place.

Grunkle Stan started to ask her a question as he walked over to the register, but Mabel never found out what it was. She was already heading out the door, too busy and too full of exciting, _wonderful_ ideas to turn back around.

This was going to be good!

-xXxXx-

Mabel was ready to implement ‘Phase 1’ of the plan that afternoon.

From what she’d seen in the gift shop, she wasn’t going to have to do too much of anything to convince Mr. McGucket that he and her uncle were meant for each other – no one got _that_ flustered over a silly little crush! So she’d just have to concentrate all of her match-making skills into working on Grunkle Stan.

Which was probably going to be difficult.

Though her uncle was a big softie on the inside, he put a hard shell around himself to keep most people away. It probably had something to do with protecting himself from getting hurt, but mostly it was just stupid.

Plus he was super good at keeping secrets; if he _did_ start to care for Mr. McGucket, he might never let on!

She’d have to be _subtle_.

Mabel found Stan in the museum, fixing up some of the exhibits before the next tour group came through. Offering to hold up fake body parts while he glued them in place turned out to be a great way to disguise what she was really after.

Now she just had to get the conversation rolling, real casual-like…

“Say Grunkle Stan, you know what I like best about Mr. McGucket?”

Nailed it.

Even though he only gave her a grunt in response, she knew he was listening. Getting fur to stick in the right places just took a lot of concentration.

“His _laugh!_ ” she continued brightly, handing him the stapler. “It’s so jolly and full – like Santa’s laugh!”

She decided to take the eyebrow he raised as a good sign.

“Or how ‘bout, uh…” With all the ideas she’d had that morning, she was surprised to find herself drawing a blank. Maybe if she’d written a few of them down…

“The colour of his eyes?”

A lot of the couples in the romantic movies she’d seen talked about their partner’s eyes, and she’d seen some pretty dreamy ones herself in real life too (oh, Derrick) – why _shouldn’t_ Grunkle Stan get the same feelings when he looked in Mr. McGucket’s?

“I don’t know if you ever noticed it before, but they’re kind of bluey-grey, like, um…” She dropped the bag she’d been holding out for him to search quickly about the room, finding just what she was looking for on a shelf by the sea hag exhibit. Running back over to where he was crouched gathering up the loose feathers she’d spilled, she held the voodoo doll in front of his nose. “Like these gems!” The pretty blue rocks sparkled in one of the spotlights overhead, catching her attention. “Wow, are those tanzanite?”

Grunkle Stan rolled his eyes at her, but he was smiling. “Fake, sweetie.” (Of course, why would anything be real in _this_ part of the Shack?)“But still breakable,” he added quickly, “Give it here.” When she passed the doll over to him he ran a thumb down one of its shiny eyes, then plopped it down (harder than she would have expected for something fragile) on a nearby end table. “Now, what were you saying?”

Shoot, what _was_ she saying?

Grunkle Stan was looking at her now, waiting, shifting impatiently from one foot to the other.

In a total state of panic, she shouted, “His beard!”

“ _What?_ ”

“Mr. McGucket’s beard – it’s nice. How… white it is? And…” Nope, no way to save it now. “Beard-y?”

Ugh. Dumb.

Grunkle Stan stood there staring at her, blankly, for _way_ too long. The corner of his mouth might have twitched up once, but she wasn’t sure. Then he came up to put the back of his hand against her forehead.

“Hmm, yep. Warm. You better go have a lie down, kid.”

Her eyes widened. He had to be kidding! “What? But I’m not –”

“Uh-uh, no buts! I’m putting you on bed rest!” She could tell now that he was dead serious by the way he crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not gonna let you get the whole Shack sick. Think of the customers, Mabel!” he cried out, dramatically. “How will they buy their snow globes if they’re too busy coughin’ up lungs, and whatnot?”

“Grunkle Stan!”

“Upstairs!” He said firmly, pointing his thumb over his shoulder at the museum exit. “And if I catch you outta that bed for even one second, you’re gonna be in _big_ trouble!”

Pouting, cheeks going bright red in embarrassment, Mabel marched sadly away.

-xXxXx-

Mabel tried again a couple days later, when the perfect opportunity fell right in her lap.

She’d gone down to the (dark, grimy, lonesome) lab to call her brother and their newest great-uncle to eat with a cheerful, “Dinner’s ready!” but the two were so engrossed in their (probably majorly important) work on the computers they didn’t hear her. “You guys?”

“What was that, dear?” a creaky voice called from the other side of the room.

Her head whipped around to catch Mr. McGucket popping out from behind a desk, screwdriver in hand. “It’s time for dinner!” she repeated, bouncing up to him. An excited gasp left her when she realized, “Are you gonna eat with us, too?”

“Oh, I don’t think I –”

“ _Please?_ ”

Cue the puppy-dog eyes!

“Well,” he faltered, rubbing at his neck (and accidentally getting the tip of the screwdriver he was still holding caught in his beard).

She added a deep, bottom-lip curling, pout.

As soon as he’d conceded, “If yer sure there’d be enough ta go ‘round…” she started to pull him up the basement stairs.

A dinner date! It would be so romantic!

Why hadn’t she thought of it before?

She burst into the kitchen to find Grunkle Stan stirring at a bubbling pot on the stove. He turned his head to greet her, but froze when he saw who was with her.

Mr. McGucket squirmed under his gaze, so Mabel held on a little tighter to his hand.

Finally Grunkle Stan turned to her. “Where’s your brother?”

“Oh.”

She’d been so excited to get Mr. McGucket upstairs she’d forgotten what she’d gone down for in the first place.

Shrugging her shoulders sheepishly, Mabel replied with a quiet, “I did tell them…”

Grunkle Stan gave a disgusted sort of snort as he pushed his way past. A couple of seconds later they could hear him in the gift shop shouting for Dipper to “get his little butt up here, or else!”

The yelling seemed to make Mr. McGucket uneasy. He pulled away from her to rock unsteadily on his feet.“Maybe I’ll just, uh, go back ‘n run the–the thingama-whatsit for Stanford, so y’all can have yer vittles without –” He jumped when a large hand patted him on the shoulder.

Grunkle Stan had made it back to the kitchen. As he walked inside he ordered him firmly to “Sit, McGucket,” but not in unkind way.

Mabel hurried to pull their spare chair to the table, swinging it around to squish next to the one on the side closest to the door. “Here ya go!” she called, making big gestures with her hands until Mr. McGucket finally took the hint and sat.

Dipper and Great-uncle Ford hobbled in as Grunkle Stan was busy scooping spaghetti and sauce onto plates (which she obediently took to the table for him). They sat in their regular spots, Great-uncle Ford against the wall by the window, across from Mr. McGucket, and Dipper on his left.

With the last plate in hand, Mabel bounded in front of Grunkle Stan to snag the spot by the stove, across from Dipper.

It left only one place open for him: right beside Mr. McGucket.

They were so close when he sat down that their elbows were touching. (In some countries, she bet, that would make them _married!_ ) Dinner officially began when he picked up his fork.

And then things got _awkward_.

Mabel had twirled a long strand of spaghetti, ready to take that first delicious bite, when she was interrupted by a loud _slurp_. She glanced up to see Mr. McGucket enjoying his meal a little too much – with his fork digging in on one side of the plate and a hand digging in on the other, he was shoveling big wads of pasta into his mouth, two clumps at a time, without even waiting to swallow. Little flecks of red sauce shot out to paint his chin and stain his beard.

The others had noticed it too; Dipper was looking off to the side with the same flush of embarrassment she felt colouring her cheeks, while Great-uncle Ford was staring hard across the table, his mouth set in a grim straight line. Only Grunkle Stan seemed to be unfazed by Mr. McGucket’s table manners, but then, he was also making a point not to look at him.

The loud screech of a chair sliding across the linoleum drew everyone’s attention to Great-uncle Ford. When he turned to stalk, silently, from the room, his brother followed.

The beginning of an argument could be heard down the hall –

“ _Where_ are you going?”

“Do you think I _like_ seeing him that way, Stanley? That horrible, disgusti…”

– until they, and their voices, disappeared into the basement.

The three left in the kitchen settled into an awkward silence. Mr. McGucket had stopped eating, but a couple of long noodles still hung from his lips. He bit down and they fell to his nearly-empty plate.

“Mr. McGucket…” Mabel started to say. She had no idea how to finish.

It was enough to set the older man moving; he lifted from his seat, wiping his hands on his overalls until they were just as messy as the rest of him. He stumbled over the words, “Ah, I think I’d better be goin’ – th-thanks for havin’ me,” before he stumbled out of the room.

A few seconds later they heard the front door slam.

Mabel looked sadly across the table at Dipper, who’d started to pick at his food.

Maybe they could fix this? If they went together to…

But just then Grunkle Stan came back in the room. He sat down by his plate and shoved a forkful of pasta into his mouth, swiping angrily at his chin with the back of his hand.

They didn’t say a word to each other for the rest of the night.

-xXxXx-

Strolling through the living room around lunchtime the next day, Mabel was surprised, and happily so, to find Dipper sprawled out on the floor colouring. Well, he wasn’t exactly ‘colouring’; the paper he was using was bright blue and lined in a grid, and instead of crayons he had this metal pen-thing and a bottle of ink. Looking down at the page he was working on, she saw a bunch of neatly-drawn concentric circles and shaded-in rectangles.

Ah, abstract art.

“What’s up, bro-sef?” she called, plopping herself down, cross-legged, on the carpet in front of him.

Dipper explained, “I’m mapping out where the gravity anomalies struck town last week for Great-uncle Ford’s research,” without once looking up from his work.

She watched him carefully scratch out another small circle in the top corner before asking, “Can I help?” and reaching out to snag one of the spare sheets of blue paper at his side. But Dipper pulled the pages away and, caught off guard, her hand brushed up against the small bottle of ink.

It tipped, spilling a dark blob right in the middle of his drawing.

“ _Mabel!_ ” Dipper cried, snatching up the bottle before it could do any more damage. “Now I have to start all over!”

“Oh-oh! Wait!” Crawling over near Stan’s armchair, Mabel scanned the floor for something they could use to wipe up the mess. “Here, let me –”

“I think you’ve done _enough_.”

At his harsh tone, she spun around to check on him.

He still wasn’t looking at her; he was too busy crumpling up the ruined paper and starting on a fresh one.

If he didn’t need her help that… that was fine. _Great_ even.

She mumbled a quick, “Sorry,” as she hurried from the room, wiping hard at her eyes (it felt like they were _burning_ ). She’d made it halfway up the stairs when she first heard the familiar voices approaching from down the hall and froze, straining to listen.

Grunkle Stan was grumbling about something, but she could only make out the end of his complaint, “… get it himself?”

“I said I’d git it,” Mr. McGucket replied, sounding unsure. When they came into view near the bottom of the stairs Mabel could see that he was wringing his hands.

They walked, Grunkle Stan leading, to the hall closet. “If it’s anywhere in this dump, it’ll be in here,” he exclaimed, opening the door to step inside and begin to fumble, noisily, with the junk piled on the shelves.

“Thank you, Stanley,” Mr. McGucket said quietly behind him. With how far he was standing from the closet door, she didn’t think Grunkle Stan could hear him.

But it gave her an idea.

Mabel skipped down the stairs and up to Mr. McGucket. Leaning in by his shoulder, she pointed to a spot in the dark space inside the closet by Stan’s feet. “Hey, is that it?”

Mr. McGucket took the bait, diving forward, and, with a wicked grin, she slammed the door behind him. She giggled as she quickly twisted the lock in place.

What a fool-proof plan!

With nowhere else to go, they were bound to start talking. They’d realize they shared a bunch of the same interests and opinions (like how nice and clever that great-niece of Stan’s is, golly!), and before you knew it, they’d have fallen madly in love!

She’d just have to give them an hour to get there. Maybe two.

But as she started to walk away, headed for a well-deserved crafts break, she heard rattling, clicking noises from behind the closet door. When she turned back around, it flew open.

Mr. McGucket appeared, scrambling out on all fours. There was a scared, panicked, look on his face as he huddled up against the wall, trembling and breathing heavily.

Oh no.

“Mr. McGucket?”

Was he claustrophobic? Afraid of the dark?

Mabel moved closer to offer support, but before she could reach him two tall legs stepped between them to block her way. She looked up as the _angriest_ expression she’d ever seen crossed Grunkle Stan’s face. His mouth was curled in a deep scowl, his eyebrows angled down sharply, his skin a heated red…

Worse than the anger, though, was the disappointment flashing behind his eyes.

She was about to say something – apologize, beg for mercy, _anything_ to make up for what she’d done – when Dipper called, “What’s going on out there?” from the other room.

Then she darted upstairs to cry into her pillow.

No one came looking for her.

-xXxXx-

If she hadn’t already been awake, she probably wouldn’t have heard them; the attic window had been closed and as wound up as Mr. McGucket was, he hadn’t exactly been _yelling_.

She might not have even gone downstairs to investigate if she hadn’t been going bonkers trying to get to sleep that night. She’d figured it’d be a good distraction.

But watching poor old man McGucket pace around the front porch from her hiding spot at the side of the house was just making Mabel feel _worse_.

He was mumbling a whole lot of nonsense–not that funny hillbilly language he used sometimes, though. It was more like the crazy gibberish he spoke in the memories they’d watched at the museum, with words that had too many consonants thrown together from the end of the alphabet.

He was talking to Grunkle Stan, or at least Grunkle Stan was _there_ , standing by the front door with his hands on his hips. Mr. McGucket didn’t seem to be paying much attention to him. He’d throw his hands up in the air, shake his head, stomp his feet,but he never once actually _looked_ at her uncle.

And it was hard to tell if Grunkle Stan was listening to him; he was too quiet and too still. She couldn’t see his face very well from this angle (she wasn’t about to risk moving closer), but she thought he might have been frowning.

When he suddenly shouted, “Hey, _hey!_ ” and took a big step toward the raving man in front of them, Mabel was sure her heart stopped beating.

Mr. McGucket had started to pull on his hair and it looked _painful_. Stan grabbed hold of his wrists and forced them away, far out to the sides. Where Mr. McGucket’s hands were clenched in fists, she could see thick clumps of grey hair poking out between his fingers.

“Don’t start that again!” Grunkle Stan growled. He held firmly onto Mr. McGucket as he twisted, desperately, to get away.

The smaller man was still speaking in crazy gibberish, but it was slowing down. Everything was slowing down, his words, his jerky movements, until he finally stopped altogether to collapse against Grunkle Stan’s chest.

It was only when her uncle let go of Mr. McGucket’s wrists and wrapped his arms around him that Mabel realized the horrible sounds he’d been making had turned into sobs.

“It’s okay, Fidds. I’ve got you.” Grunkle Stan’s voice was gentler now than it had been; soothing,“Everything’ll be okay,” with a kind of tired and relieved smile.

But Mr. McGucket was shaking his head and pulling away from him. “I can’t do this, Stanferd,” he whispered, missing the way Stan flinched when he glared down at the deck.“I can’t, I…” He licked his lips, glanced back up, and seemed to realize his mistake, “Stan- _ley_ , I _can’t_!”

“Fidds…”

Taking another step back Mr. McGucket explained, in a wild rush, “Ever’ time I come by this… this convolutin’ ol’ shack I get closer n’ closer to rememberin’ –” He paused to take in a shuddering breath and said, more slowly, “I can’t come by here no more.”

Grunkle Stan stretched a hand, palm up, out toward him. It was shaking.“I thought you were _through_ forgetting.”

“Not _this_. Can’t ya see? I won’t _survive_ it if I do.” He was whining now, his voice shrill. “Whatever I saw in there Stanley… No, I –” Shaking his head again, over and over. “I’m sorry. I’m _sorry!_ ”

Then he turned, moaned something too quietly for Mabel to hear, and ran off into the dark night.

Grunkle Stan was standing completely still, staring at the spot where Mr. McGucket had been a few seconds ago. His back was tensely straight and his hands were balled up in fists by his sides.

Mabel couldn’t stand it anymore. She didn’t know what to do with herself; she wanted to run away, curl up into a ball, scream... It felt like she was going to be sick.

Tears were streaming down her cheeks before she could stop them. She let herself fall back against the side of the house, pulling her knees in close so she could muffle her sobs against them.

How could everything be so awful?

A hand stroking her hair startled her. She looked blearily up at Grunkle Stan where he’d sat down next to her at the end of the porch.

“Someone’s having a bad week, huh?”

The sad smile pulling at his lips, put there for _her_ despite everything that had happened, made her stomach tie in knots. She scrambled up on the porch to climb into his lap, then hid her face in the collar of his suit and whispered, “I’m so, so sorry,” between wet, hiccoughing breaths.

Grunkle Stan rested his chin on top of her head. She could feel his throat bob with every word he spoke. “Mabel, sweetie, people are… complicated, you know?” A deep sigh blew through her hair, tickling her scalp. “You can’t just force ‘em to do what you want.”

Her throat felt too sore, too raw, to reply, so she just nodded against his chest.

“Look, if you care about someone, you’ve gotta let them do what makes them happy,” Stan continued. She felt him pull away and then he chucked her, gently, under the chin to make her look up at him. “ _Even_ if it takes ‘em away from you.”

His soothing words made her cry _harder_. It’d all hurt too much, for too long.

“I miss him,” she confessed, finally, screwing her eyes shut. She knew it couldn’t possibly help to say; she was just too tired to keep hiding it.

But then Grunkle Stan mumbled, “I know,” and pressed his prickly cheek against her forehead and she got the feeling he really _did_.

They sat together for a little while in silence until Grunkle Stan cleared his throat.

“I was thinkin’ about blowing off work tomorrow and going fishin,’” he said, somehow making his voice sound like laughter, warm and kind. “Know anyone willing to keep a lonely old guy company?”

Mabel took in a deep breath, wiped one last tear from the corner of her eye, and smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay Mabel, you see how Stan managed to talk to you about two (*cough* three) different relationships, all at once? Now that’s how you do ‘subtle’.


End file.
